Now that there are green sprouts pushing through dead leaves and fat yellow jackets float on the breeze, the waves kiss the shore and the air is warm. But, birch trees are falling now that you are gone. Once we walked the crumbling cliffs where the birch trees lean, once I kissed your apple lips high above the sea. A year ago it was since the last clover grew, under creaking birch trees I would wait for you. We kissed in the salt air beneath the leaning trees. White slender branches bent to the sea. Once we walked the crumbling cliffs where the birch trees lean, now who will kiss your apple lips under the salty sea?